


The Sound of Cold Feet at My Door

by PainInTheLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Airplanes, Fluff, Football, M/M, Oneshot, Snowball Fight, Soccer, Winter, blizzard, brief mention of an airplane crash and car crash but nothing graphic, brief mentions of sex but nothing too graphic, but then he makes up for it, harry making louis worry, snowstorm, surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PainInTheLarry/pseuds/PainInTheLarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Harry play football in the middle of a snowstorm. Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Cold Feet at My Door

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for [larryfanfiction](http://larryfanfiction.tumblr.com/)’s Holiday Cheer Fic Challenge! :3
> 
> My prompt/three required elements were:  
> 1) Universe: Football  
> 2) Story Type: Fluff  
> 3) Wintry Element: Snowstorm.
> 
> Enjoy, and happy holidays! :3
> 
> P.S. - I’m American. I apologize for any misuse of English terminology (and if you spot any, please let me know how it can be corrected). Thanks!

Sometimes Louis wonders if there’s ever been a sound more beautiful than that of steaming hot tea falling into a mug.

 _Yes, but then again, what about Harry?_  he thinks, continuing a conversation with himself. _Certainly can't leave him out. And, to be fair, the sound of Harry pouring tea is even better. Even though I'm certainly the tea master meself._

He puts the kettle down and pauses, watching the steam float away from his mug as his own thoughts catch up to him.

 _So it's that kind of day again,_ he thinks.

Louis's only half ashamed to admit that it's after noon and he's still wearing the same pajamas that he wore both all day yesterday and the night before. He hasn't showered either, or done much of anything, really. His cupboards are running dangerously low on junk food, and he's fairly certain that he's spent 99% of the past two days either in his bed or on the couch. The only thing he's proud of is the minor amount of self-restraint he's slowly been growing. Now he's only checking his phone every thirty seconds to see if Harry's texted him back instead of every five.

Louis has no desire to be active, but he's also apparently lost the ability to relax.

Home just isn’t home without Harry. Louis’ body feels exhausted from all of the energy he expends missing him, even on these short trips away meant to convince the general public that they’re not just as attached at the hip as they've always been. Harry’s currently off publicly galavanting with his newest management-organized, well-paid female "friend," but that's not even why Louis’s bothered. Unfortunately, he’s used to that by now. What really bothers him the most about the time they spend apart is the obnoxious silence echoing across the walls of their half empty house.

When they're home together, even when they’re each doing their own thing, just knowing that Harry's there if Louis needs him is comfort enough. When Harry's gone, Louis realizes just how much he's grown to depend on hearing the love of his life banging around in the next room. He misses hearing him hard at work in the kitchen, the sizzling oil cradling his famous egg on toast breakfast. He misses hearing him opening and closing drawers in the bedroom, trying to put all of the laundry away by himself before Louis wakes up to the sound of his kindness and demands to help. Hearing him singing Miley Cyrus in the shower, rubbing suds onto his ink-littered skin and loving his freedom to belt off-key when he thinks nobody’s listening. Hearing him struggle against the rustling bed sheets, choking on Louis’ name as his fingers grip his hair and--

Yeah, Louis misses Harry a lot.

He brings his tea back to the couch where his insatiable appetite has already done significant damage to a bag of Oreo’s. Louis stares at the TV’s still display of the FIFA start screen as he takes his first sip, thinking about how much his motivation dwindles when Harry isn’t around. He's holding his phone before he remembers reaching for it.

Sent, 2:31 pm: You know what i haven’t done in a while?

Received, 2:39 pm: What

Sent, 2:41 pm: Haven’t played football at all this break

Received, 2:42 pm: :(

Sent, 2:44 pm: Coach is gonna kill me

Sent, 2:45 pm: If this is my last message tell mums i love them

Received, 2:48 pm: Why don’t we play together when i get back?

Sent, 2:49 pm: s’allright love i know you want to rest

Received, 2:53 pm: I want to play with you. Like we used to

Sent, 2:56 pm: You want to play with me? Filthy boy

Received, 2:58 pm: ;)

Received, 3:00 pm: I’m serious though

Sent, 3:03 pm: Your funeral

Received, 3:04 pm: We’ll see

 _We'll see._ A fire grows in Louis' belly as those last words sink in. He’ll see Harry very soon. He'll be right here, next to him on this very couch, very soon. Louis is picturing it, seeing their bodies wrapped around one another behind his eyelids, and then he's rising and throwing out the rest of the Oreo's. He's turning off the TV, putting the kettle away, folding the blanket on the couch. He's singing as he opens the curtains and makes his bed and jumps in the shower. He's doing these things without thinking about how much he hates cleaning, because all he’s thinking about is how happy they would make Harry if he were here.

The amount of control Harry holds on his emotional well-being always takes Louis by surprise. He likes to think that he's in control of his life, but it's moments like these that shock him with the revelation that he's actually quite shit at telling the difference between his own wants and needs. But that's where Harry shines, and that’s why Louis trusts him without a shadow of doubt. And, yes, Louis hates the feeling he gets when he's alone, like he's crawling through life numb to his five senses. But he loves the feeling he gets when they're together, like they're an unstoppable force molded in destiny’s hands.

Sure, giving his heart away used to scare Louis beyond belief. When he first met Harry, he hated himself for making himself so vulnerable to another person. He knows that Harry holds all of his secrets locked tight, knows that he could wreck him with a single whisper to the media. But even though their relationship is an uphill battle every day, Harry’s never let him down, and Louis knows that he never would. Because nobody else could understand them the way they do. They’re the only ones who know the harmony that flows between them when they’re alone.

That night, Louis falls asleep imagining that he can hear Harry’s breath slowing beside him.

* * *

Received, 7:34 am: Home-bound xxx

Sent, 10:03 am: Thank god xxxx

Received, 10:06 am: You’re eager to lose then

Sent, 10:07 am: Think you mean win

Received, 12:45 pm: At the airport !!!!!!!! Get ready to have your arse kicked

Sent, 12:46 pm: Talk dirty to me

Sent, 1:42 pm: See you soon love :)

Sent, 1:52 pm: Gonna have a nap. I expect you to have tea ready when I wake up

Louis wakes to the distressed voice of a weatherman warning him to stay indoors. He must’ve rolled over on the remote control and somehow managed to turn on the TV. His phone dings and he picks it up, expecting a text from Harry saying that he’s lost his key or something and needs Louis to let him in. But rubbing the sleep from his eyes brings an entirely different sight. It’s a weather alert trying to bring the incredible snowstorm hard at work conquering their skies to his attention.

 _A snowstorm?_ Louis scratches his hairline. _In this country?_

He manages out of bed and peeks around the curtain to see the white blanket covering his backyard. And apparently it isn’t over, the colourless sky showing no signs of stopping its heavy, frozen shower.

He quickly looks up Harry’s flight information and sees that it’s been delayed. _Shit._

Sent, 3:10 pm: Just saw the weather ! Can’t believe it

Sent, 3:12 pm: Hope you’re doing ok babe

He pads into the kitchen to put the kettle on, watching the snowflakes free-fall. He’d always been a bit indifferent towards snow. Thankfully it rarely snows in England, so he doesn’t have to think about it much. But snow officially gets on his bad side when it interferes with traveling, especially when it’s keeping his other half away, undoubtedly suspended in the air, doomed to circle Heathrow Airport until the pilot sees it safe to land. Louis leans against the counter to type out another message.

Sent, 3:32 pm: Guess we won’t have our footie match after all

Then he waits.

Sent, 5:00 pm: Did you land yet babe?

And he waits a lot.

Sent, 6:38 pm: Harry I called heathrow they said you landed hours ago

Sent, 7:14 pm: Harry it’s still fucking snowing where are you

Sent, 7:58 pm: Do me a favour and just tell me you’re alive please

As hard as Louis tries not to worry, he just can’t stop. For all he knows, Harry’s dead on the side of the road because the car skid on the ice and turned over. Or maybe all of the roads are closed to begin with. Or maybe he never even made it that far, maybe the plane ran out of petrol before it had a chance to land. Or maybe Harry should just fucking text him and please not die thank you.

Not even seconds after the thought leaves his brain, his phone rings, displaying a picture of the no-show in question sticking his tongue out for the camera.

"Harry! Where--"

"Come outside, unless you’re too scared," his love's voice taunts before the line goes dead.

Louis all but throws his phone onto the kitchen counter. _If this child isn't already dead, I swear I’ll kill him,_ he thinks as he appears at the door. But the image he’s faced with clears his head of all of his previous anger.

“What are…? Harry, what are you doing? Is that a football?”

Sure enough, Harry’s stood on their snow-covered front lawn, football tucked under his arm. “You promised me a practice!” he beams, the streetlights making him glow against the dark night.

“Harry, the snow! Are you mad?!”

“A little! Come on, I’m your coach today!” His jokes come as he’s piercing the air above him with the football and catching it upon its returns. Seeing Harry has turned Louis’ entire body into a live wire. He feels more awake than he has in days, adrenaline pumping, fingers twitching, feet fidgeting, skin tingling with the desire to land in Harry’s arms as effortlessly as that football. But--

“It’s a blizzard!”

“You’re scared of a little snow, then?”

“...No, of course not!”

“Then get out here and give me twenty laps. And twenty kisses.” Harry kicks the football at Louis, who barely catches it above his head, saving it from wrecking their entryway.

“Fuck.”

Louis runs into the house to throw on shoes and a coat, Harry’s grin wide with victory. When Louis trods out, ball in hand, Harry’s jogging in circles like he has enough energy to power the earth. Louis throws the ball over Harry’s head, purposefully missing to gets Harry’s eyes to follow the ball’s journey. The moment is Louis’. He runs at Harry’s back full-force, but he ruins the surprise when, unable to contain his excitement, a battle-cry flies from his lips. Harry turns, happy to hear Louis closer than the doorway, but his eyes blow wide when he registers the speed with which Louis’s traveling towards him. Then they’re on the ground.

“You’re a dead man, Harold,” Louis pants, breath billowing up and mingling with Harry’s in the space between their mouths. “Your curls will never see the light of day again.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would take so long to buy a football in a snowstorm.”

Louis holds back a laugh. “You do know that we have some in the house.”

“But that would’ve ruined the surprise!” Harry pouts, actually pouts, and Louis wonders how anyone let two grown-up children enter into a relationship.

When he kisses him, he’s no longer on the ground in the middle of a snow-covered lawn, frozen wind whipping at his back. They’re in front of a fire, cuddling under blankets, limbs tangled together as they tickle each other and laughter runs wild. He feels Harry’s warmth radiate through his body so strongly that he honestly believes they’ve moved until he pulls away and opens his eyes. Harry’s shooting his cheshire grin up at him and Louis would bet all of his money that Harry felt it too. He has nothing left to fear. Harry’s here now. Their house’s silence can’t haunt him anymore. Because together, they always win.

“I believe you owe me twenty of those,” Harry says, wiggling his eyebrows.

 _Cheeky bastard,_ Louis almost retorts. But then he’s watching the snowflakes falling and melting on Harry’s face, sticking to his eyelashes, nestling themselves in the pillowy curves of his hair. He feels like he’s falling with them, even though he knows he fell for Harry a long, long time ago.

“Whatever you say, coach.”

Louis dips his head to kiss Harry’s nose. “Two.” His forehead. “Three.” Both of his eyebrows, “Four, five.” Both of his cheeks, both of his ears, and on either side of his jaw, “Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven.” He pushes Harry’s scarf aside and kisses down his neck, counting to count out loud as he goes.

All of Harry’s back is wet, but he doesn’t feel the cold with Louis keeping all of his nerve endings rather busy. “I was kidding, Lou,” he breathes. “You don’t actually have to--”

But Louis cuts him off with another kiss to his lips. “Eighteen,” he smiles. “I know. I want to.”

Harry blushes, and he almost wonders if the snow on the back of his neck is to blame. But he’s smart enough to realize that a sincere Louis will do more damage to his cheeks’ dilating blood vessels than frozen rain and cold air ever could.

Louis makes the last two kisses last, moving his lips against Harry’s so slowly that Harry almost wonders if he’s joking. But he finds that he doesn’t care. The past few days apart seemed to drag on forever, and he wants Louis’ kisses to last much, much longer.

When Louis pulls away, he does it gently, with the wildest smile. “Twenty. Take that!” He sticks his tongue out, and how could he honestly expect Harry not to give it at least a quick peck? Louis groans and feigns disgust even though his heart feels heavy with all of the love that it holds for the boy underneath him.

Suddenly, Harry bucks Louis off. He lands in the snow beside where Harry used to be, now standing above him, hands on his hips.

“Now give me those twenty laps! No more slacking!”

Louis grabs a fist full of snow and chucks it at Harry, who ducks, barks a laugh, and retaliates. Louis crawls backwards to grab the football, using it as a shield to block the offences.

So maybe Harry isn’t the best football coach, and maybe he can easily be bribed to cut practice short with the promise of a warm bed and a naked Louis, and maybe they’re the only two people crazy enough to play in a snowstorm, but maybe, just maybe, Louis wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Come visit me on [tumblr](http://paininthelarry.tumblr.com/). I love prompts. :3


End file.
